


Falling

by Annabelle (annabelle_marie)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelle_marie/pseuds/Annabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren is an average high school student, studying just enough to get by, hanging out with friends. Levi is in grad school, studying military technologies. One night Eren sneaks into a bar on a dare and meets him, a beautiful, uninterested man with cold blue eyes. At first, it seems like that meeting is all they'll ever have. But another chance encounter proves otherwise. Despite the difference in years and his harsh tone, Eren finds himself feeling something new, something that scares him but also awakens him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually never written fanfiction before, but I thought I'd try my hand at it. The rating might change but I'll leave it at a comfortable M for now. There will probably be more/different relationships established later.
> 
> No idea how long this is going to be yet. Maybe around 15 chapters.
> 
> Personally, I feel like this chapter is immensely boring, because nothing really happens, but I need to establish some sort of daily pattern before everything else.
> 
> If it sucks, you can tell me. Preferably in a nice way, but I want to know.

So. Fucking. Tired.

I roll over and slam my hand down on the snooze button on my alarm clock. It isn’t long before I hear the telltale sign that I’ve hit it too hard: there’s a loud clattering sound as the cheap plastic device falls over the lip of my nightstand and collides with the floor. I groan and roll over, holding my hand in my hands as the loud sound interrupts the quiet of my morning. 

There’s really nothing for it, though, I decide, and reluctantly drag myself out of bed, not bothering to make it neatly. I never do. It’s nothing more than a waste of my time. I grab the clock and set it back on the table as I stand. Stretching, I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that says “Survival of the Fittest.” It’s a bit lame, but I’m not too interested in what others think of me.

I can hear Mikasa yelling at me to hurry up if I want any breakfast, but I just roll my eyes as I gather my things for school. I clench my fists as I always do when my hand hovers over the picture of my mother. I close my eyes, take a deep breath to calm down; then I exhale and unclench my fists before snagging the book we’re supposed to be reading for school, The Catcher in the Rye. I think we were supposed to have read through about thirty pages for today’s class, but I couldn’t care less.

Mikasa is still yelling, so I yell something back just to get her to shut up. She quiets immediately, and I’m surprised but grateful. I finish shoving all my shit into my backpack before I sling it on one shoulder and blink twice to wake myself up before bracing myself to leave my room.

Sophomore year blows, and the rest of the high school won’t be any better if the burned-out looks on the seniors’ faces are any indication. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, but I wouldn’t mind a chance to get some revenge on the bastards who killed Mom.

At the end of the hall, I come face-to-face with my adopted sister. At a year older than me, she’s a junior, and she’s quite pretty. Still, I’ve never been able to think of her as anything other than my sister, and I’m sure she feels the same way.

I drop my backpack as I plop myself down at the table, picking up my fork to dig into the eggs Mikasa made. I hate them sunny-side up, but I’m feeling particularly generous this morning so I let it go. Shoveling them into my mouth, I dread today’s classes.

“Eren. Eren!” I suddenly hear, and I realize my sister has been trying to get my attention for some time now. I know my cheeks must be flushed in apologetic embarrassment, so I don’t add anything. I look up to acknowledge that I’ve heard her, and let her speak.

“Reiner’s party tonight. Are you going?” I assume by the question that she is, but I ask her anyway just to make sure.

“Yeah. Jean is going to be there.” I clench and unclench my fists silently. Jean is Mikasa’s kind-of sort-of boyfriend, but I can’t stand him. He gets on my nerves without having to do hardly anything and Mikasa knows I’ll take any excuse to shove his face in. I glare and she just raises her chin at me, a silent challenge. I don’t take the bait, simply sighing and rolling my eyes.

“I guess. Armin’ll probably want to go, and I can’t let him go alone. Besides, Reiner’s not so badly, really.” I add ketchup to what’s left of my eggs and swirl it around on the plate before putting it in my mouth. Standing, I cross over to the sink and rinse everything off before setting it gently in the bottom. Dad may send money home every month, but it isn’t nearly enough for us to spend it on appliances like a dishwashers.

Absentmindedly, I pick up the sponge and pour some dish soap on it before aggressively scrubbing my dirty plate. I rarely wash my dishes before school, but there’s a bit of extra time today, so I figure it can’t hurt. Mikasa is still talking, so with a sigh I focus my ears back on her.

“…probably be some of the only sophomores there, you know?” she’s saying, and I assume she’s mentioning Armin and myself. Reiner himself should be a sophomore, but he skipped a grade somewhere back in grade school. There will be other sophomores there, like Bertholdt, his rumored boyfriend, and Annie, their close friend. Probably a few others. Still, I knew as well as Mikasa did that it would be a party mostly for upperclassmen. The only reason Armin and I were able to snag an invite at all was because we were sort of friendly with Reiner, and Jean would of course be able to go because he was Mikasa’s…well. I didn’t want to think about that.

I finish washing my dishes and set them in the clean side of the sink to dry before picking up my backpack again. By unspoken agreement, Mikasa gets out the keys to her black ’07 Civic sitting in the car park. I’m insanely jealous of the fact that she can even drive. At fifteen, I should be able to get my permit in a few months, but then the struggle would be to find someone who can teach me to drive. I didn’t know how Mikasa had her license, but I’d already decided I didn’t want to think about it.

Shit. It’s cold, I think as soon as I step outside. It’s too late for me to grab a sweatshirt now, though. Mikasa gives me a concerned look and asks if I want to go back inside, but I shake my head. She gives me a dubious look, but she seems to sense that today is not the day to push it, so she just shakes her head and locks the deadbolt. We head down the stairs in silence until we reach the apartment’s car park. She slides the key into the driver’s side door to unlock it, opening it smoothly before popping the other locks. I open the door and take a seat gratefully, slamming the door shut and cranking on the heat before Mikasa even starts the car.

At the next traffic light, she reaches up and starts to unwind the red scarf she always wears. “You should take this, Eren, you’ll be cold,” she says. I reach up a hand to stop her, but she fights me. “I don’t want you to get sick.” I grasp her hand tightly she can’t move it further, although I am no fool; she could tear it from my hand if she wanted to. But I know her well enough to know she won’t, at least not until hearing what I have to say.

“God, Mikasa, I’ll be fine. Stop mothering me,” I say as harshly as I can, annoyed that she treats me like this when she’s barely older than me. I let her hands go and resume holding mine in front of the fans, letting the artificial heat wash over them. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, and I see her hesitate, see the conflict in her face, before she finally drops her hand. She bites her lip and I can tell she still wants to make me take it, but after what I said to her she won’t push. For now.

The rest of the car ride is silent and a little awkward, but we make it on time with a few minutes to spare. I hop out of the car and give my arms a few quick rubs to warm them up before I step towards the school. It isn’t cold enough to snow yet, but if the dark clouds hanging over were any indication, it might rain. I start to wish I had grabbed a jacket even though it would have made us late. A minute later and we would have caught rush-hour traffic.

I duck into the school as quickly as possible, grateful that the heating system was fixed. My first class is chemistry, so with a sigh I head upstairs and over to the science wing, entering room 4011 and plopping myself down in my seat. I immediately fold my arms over my desk and settle down for a nice, one-hour nap. The only good thing about this class was that staying awake did absolutely nothing to help me pass, so I had no reason to. The first five minutes of the class were standard lecture, followed by the teacher going off on a tangent about something that happened to him years ago or stories about his kids.

About halfway through the class, I’m awoken by something poking me in the side. Without opening my eyes, I reach down and grab the offending pencil between my fingers, easing it out of its owner’s hand. It’s enough for him to know I’m awake, but just for good measure I add, “What is it, Armin?”

His small fingers take back his pencil as he answers. “You going to Reiner’s party tonight?”

“Yeah. Someone has to watch after you,” I shoot back, but he can hear the affection in my voice, I know. I don’t have to see him to know he’s smiling, and with a final tap with the pencil he turns his attention away from me and back to the teacher. I know he’s copying down the scarce notes written on the board, even though they’d hardly even help someone who needs them, and Armin certainly doesn’t. I settle back down more comfortably and drift off again.

The bell rings to signal the end of class, and I stand awkwardly, a bit dizzy from the heat. Still, it’s far better than being cold, and I have to take a moment to remember my next class anyway. It’s only a month into school, and I have yet to get used to this year’s schedule, since they decided they wanted a rotating schedule this year.

Shit, I have statistics next. It’s my least favorite class, taught by Smith, who rumored has it spent several years in the CIA. He’s a homework Nazi and the type of teacher who actually checks to make sure you’re paying attention and taking notes in class. No phones, no food, no sleeping, no fucking anything except slowly wishing the room would implode.

I sigh and take the elevator down instead of using the stairs, simply because for once it doesn’t look completely crowded. I get over to room 4002 and hesitate outside the door, pretending to check through my phone for messages. I don’t want to be in that room a moment longer than I have to, and I wish for the millionth time that I had a smartphone like everyone else so I actually could be doing things. It’s not until the bell is about the ring that I put my phone away with a sigh and trudge into the classroom, gracelessly slumping into my desk.

As soon as the bell rings, Smith is all business. His impressive eyebrows draw together as he claps his hands together, shouting about how we should already be ready for class and to pass up our homework before he gives us all zeroes. I wouldn’t put it past him, but it’s never happened, so I reach down for my backpack the same lethargic way I usually do and pull out my math homework. Knowing what will come next, I pass up my homework with one hand and yank my spiral notebook out of my bag with the other. Fishing around for pencil, I set the notebook on my desk.

I open my notebook to a random page and copy down today’s topic in obnoxiously neat handwriting. Smith collects the homework and gives a special glare to me, but I just shrug. I’ve already accepted the fact that he doesn’t like me because I slept in his class on the first day, earning myself a “warning.” If it happens again I’ll get detention and it would get marked on my record. I could care less about my fucking record, but shoot me if I plan on staying with Smith any longer than I already have to.

By the time I’m done writing my header, Smith is already starting to write the lecture on the board. That means it’s time to buckle down and write. Unfortunately for me, he does check the notes at the end of every class, and if he doesn’t see a satisfactory amount written it can result in a zero and a detention. Worse yet is his style of lecture: in one hand he grips a whiteboard marker (today the color is red) and in the other he has his fingers firmly wrapped around an eraser. He writes the notes with one hand and erases with the other, so if anyone is to have any hope of keeping up they have to write insanely quickly and not bother with trying to actually listen to his words.

The rest of the class period is hell, as expected, as everyone frantically tries to keep up with his pace. When there are five minutes of class remaining, Smith makes his rounds of the room and looks briefly but thoroughly over everyone’s notes, making a nod to himself each time. When he reaches me, his frown deepens. I imagine it is because of my obnoxious header and the sloppiness of my notes, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod, just moves on. I assume that means they’re all right, so I slip my notebook away and wait for the bell to ring.

My next classes, English and German, pass without too much trouble, thank god. Even after a year I’m still frustrated that this school is so large, though, and I feel like I must be getting a serious workout from all the stairs I’m climbing. Finally, I reach the first floor again after coming down from the third floor language department and head to the courtyard, where Armin and our other friends will be waiting. Even though it’s starting to get cold, it’s nice to eat outside before winter really sets in and forces us inside every day. Despite my fear, it hasn’t rained yet, and the sun shines weakly through dark grey clouds.

Sasha is the first one I see, stuffing French fries into her mouth at an alarming rate. There are two hamburgers sitting beside her that I’m guessing are next as well as a slice of apple pie and a milkshake. I smile at the familiar behavior and shake my head slightly as I sweep my eyes over everyone else. Mikasa is leaning into Jean, who has an arm wrapped around her; I try my hardest not to gag at that. Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner are a little ways off, as usual, a part of the group but also not. Ymir and Krista were nearby, smiling and trading food from their lunches. Marco, Connie, and Armin were sitting together and eating while exchanging some talk, so I plopped down besides them and pulled out the lunch I’d noticed Mikasa had slipped into my backpack this morning. Occasionally, her motherliness paid off.

I unwrap the sandwich inside and bite down happily. Four hours is a long time between breakfast and lunch, and I’m usually pretty hungry by the time it rolls around, especially after having to go up and down so many stairs. I have no idea who designed this school (which, rumor has it, was supposed to be a university) but it is completely impractical for a high school. I polish off my sandwich quickly and grab the apple inside the bag. Now that I’ve eaten a little, I’m more open to conversation, and I turn to the topic at hand. 

Everyone is discussing the party tonight, although not so loudly that Reiner can overhear. “Hey, do you think you’ll drink?” Connie suddenly asks. Armin look taken aback. “Like, alcohol?” he asks, blinking.

“No, dumbass. Grape juice. Yes, alcohol.” Armin makes a face. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe just a little.” Marco has stopped paying attention and is looking over at Jean (no accounting for taste, but whatever) so they turn to me next.

“Hmmm? Probably. Don’t see a reason not to. Besides, we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t.” They nod in agreement at this, and Connie starts talking again. “I’ve heard the weirdest shit about Reiner’s parties, though. Like, that they play all sorts of middle school game shit.”

“Probably isn’t too hard to convince everyone to play when they’re totally inebriated,” I point out.

“Mmm, you make a good point. Still, it’s sort of weird,” he shrugs and goes back to eating his roll.

I can’t argue with that, so I finish off my apple—core and all. That was the way I’d always eaten them, and I wasn’t sure why, but it was habit now, pure and simple. Crumpling up the used brown bag, I took Armin’s trash from him and headed over to the trash cans to throw everything away. We still had a few minutes left before the bell rang, but by silent agreement we all decided to keep the silence. Connie got up and attempted to flirt with Sasha, who was still far more interested in her food than in him. Marco was still watching Jean quietly, and Armin had his calculator out and was trying to figure out who knows what. I flipped through my phone in boredom and changed some sort of setting for the color. I guess that was something.

Once the bell rang, we all stood up and went our respective ways. Unfortunately for me, next came the class I had with Jean: European history. I let him go first so I could stay a steady ten paces behind him, but he kept slowly down annoyingly, probably so that I would be forced to catch up. I glare at his backside and sigh at the looming staircase as I head off to class.

History is unremarkable today, and as soon as it’s over, I hurry outside. My last class of the day is computer science, something my counselor managed to rope me into because she thought I could be good at it. It’s an intensely boring class, but I manage to get by when I tell myself that there are worse things. I step into the lab and take a seat at my computer, moving the mouse around to wake up the computer before I can enter my username and password. For some reason, my computer is the only one that is always asleep on schedule B. Either no one sits here in the preceding class, or the person who sits here is a jackass who puts it to sleep just to irritate me. Probably not, though, just because if I was going to do that to someone I would think it would be better to just shut it down.

I boot up BlueJ, the application we just began using, and open up the instructions for the project we’re supposed to be doing. I open the project template and save it as “RightTurnerRobot _Jaeger” as instructed. It’s almost too easy to complete, and I move on to the next project. This one is a bit more complicated, involving a bit more coding, and finishing takes me the remainder of the period. Still, it isn’t difficult, a fact I’m grateful for. There appear to be around ten projects in this unit, and they’re due in a week and a half. No problem. The bell rings, signaling the end of the day, and I save the new file before logging off.

It isn’t long before I realize it’s raining. The computer lab is isolated in the center of the school, but looking out the windows now I can clearly see the rain coming down. Great. I am not in the mood to get drenched today. I really regret not wearing a jacket now, and I brace myself as I get ready to step outside. Guys can’t do that thing that girls do where they hold their backpacks over their heads to keep some semblance of being dry. I sigh and stride out into the rain, hurrying towards the car as quickly as I can. Mikasa is already inside, and Armin is in the backseat, coming over to hang until the party. I open the door almost violently and get inside, soaking the seat instantly. The heat is already on, and I sink against the nearest fan, sighing.

“You should have listened to me and worn a jacket this morning,” is all Mikasa says as she starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is pretty short. I'm not going to make that a thing, but adding more to this chapter wouldn't have added to the story, and writing more for the sake of writing more usually just bores people. I could have tacked part of the next chapter to this to make it longer, but I feel like that would mess with the flow of the story. Plus, chapter 3 is almost done (possibly even ready by tomorrow) and I like the way everything progresses in it.
> 
> The main reason this chapter is shorter is it does not occur in the actual flow of the story. It's in Levi's POV (which will happen again, though likely not frequently) and he's having one of his recurring nightmares about his experiences on the battlefield. Which, wow, sounds really cheesy put like that. It's something that I personally feel is really important to the story, so that's why I put it in. It's going to come into play in the relationship as well as other things.
> 
> Levi is only like this when he's alone, so this isn't a good read of how he's going to act. This is him at his most raw.
> 
> It's also based off letters written by an old friend deployed in Afghanistan, so I tried to make it as realistic as possible. It's not too gory, but if you're really sensitive it probably isn't your thing.

When the screaming starts, that is when the real nightmare begins.

I want it to stop. I fucking need it to stop, or I’m going to lose my goddamned mind. I can handle the grunting, the crying, the shouting. But when the screaming starts, everything else fades to black and I am the star of my own nightmare, wasting away under the goddamned screaming. Tossing and turning, I clench my teeth and pray that I might wake up. But I do not. I should know better by now than to believe I will, but hope of redemption from this nightmare is too often the only thing anchoring my sanity.

That’s the worst thing about these nightmares—I know that what I see isn’t what’s really happening. It’s all the past and I’m being forced to relive the horrors of what happened as some sort of grotesque retribution. This, in sleep, is the only time I have my guard let down enough that the screaming finds its way back into me after I struggle every day to expel it. I breathe in and hand my over to the nightmare, knowing that the sooner I do the sooner it will be over.

And suddenly, I’m there again. My hands are wrapped tightly around my M231 and my extensive training is gone from my head because nothing exists but the screaming. There’s something I should be doing, there’s something incredibly vital that I’m forgetting, but none of that seems to matter because I have to stop the screaming.

Running. It’s always the running after the screaming starts. Running away from something, running for something, or running to something? I can never remember, and I never find out. I can only feel the pounding of my boots against the cracked earth and the wind stroking my exposed face with gentle fingers. My helmet is askew; I reach up and push it into place with my fingertips.

I already know what’s coming next. It’s the same thing that always comes next. As soon as I reach the top of this hill, I will see it. But I cannot turn back. The nightmare does not allow me that.

There, on the ground, mangled beyond all recognition, lies one of my comrades. I don’t remember his name, if I ever knew it. What I do see is his arms, but they’re not where they should be. No, both of them are lying a good distance away from his body, shorn off jaggedly. The pink of the muscle that hangs out is rapidly turning brown as it soaks in the dirt and the entire sight is so thoroughly repulsive that I gag and have to turn my head away. So messy, I think, even in the midst of everything going on around me.

I turn back to the rest of his body. There is a deep laceration in his left leg, and the dirt around the body is stained dark brown with already dried blood. The lower half of his right leg is missing entirely, and even a quick but thorough glance of the immediate area reveals nothing. I wince, but still I cannot turn away. Not until I relive every detail of this moment.

I want to close my eyes, but instead I shift my gun to my left hand as if in a trance and lean down, my right hand grasping the torn edge of the uniform covering his torso. There’s a sick peeling sound as it pulls away from the skin and intestines it was fused to, and I grit my teeth to keep from losing my wits. As my hand pulls the camouflage fabric away, it uncovers the still-smoking wound there. His intestines are a slick bundle of melted pinkness, completely unrecognizable.

Even though I knew it was there, even though the logical part of me remembers that this is a nightmare, I can barely keep myself from retching I drop the torn scrap of uniform and reel back, my hand covering my mouth. God, this is fucking disgusting. But even then, when this was real and really happening, I couldn’t rip my eyes away. I remember that part clearly even in my waking hours. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t look away.

The worst part is what comes next, though. I kneel down beside his face and sweep away the hair plastered to his forehead, stiff with dirt and blood and probably other things I don’t want to think about. I move what’s covering his face and then I’m looking at his eyes, his mouth, the way the skin has started to harden and curl where it has been torn.

His eyes are awful. I cannot tell what color they once were, only that now they are dull and it is a miracle they are there at all. They have the sheen that lets me know he has not been dead for long, and there’s pain and fear in them, as well as a million other emotions that I don’t want to think about it. If I imagine what he was going through when he knew he was going to die, if I let myself sink into that dark abyss, I know there is no coming back. Swallowing hard, I don’t avert my own eyes as I reach over and close his.

By far the worst part, however, is his mouth. His lips are still parted, revealing the pink of his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. There’s a thin line of dirt framing the soft shape of his lips, and they are a gentle pink color still. But there is no peace here, because the parting of his lips is that of a scream. And the horror of that knowledge threatens to overcome and overwhelm me until I cannot breathe.

I know without knowing exactly what he sounded like as he died. The fear would have taken over. Men can be strong, but every one of them has a breaking point. This was his. In his dying moments, he lost himself. He broke, and I know because the screaming that occurs on the battlefield is not just screaming in terror or loss or even simple fear but an expression of absolute agony.

For a moment, everything freezes for me. Who is this man, who died alone in such a state? I wonder if he was a father, if he had a wife or a family, but I do not have the heart to go check his disembodied arm for a ring. I feel stretched out, thin. I have seen many dead men on the battlefield before. But this one hits me more powerfully than the ones that came before. I suspect it is because the screaming has never been quite so terrible before.

I back away, my fingers clutched around my gun. Within a moment, everything around me moves again. I always remember the time I spent examining the soldier’s body as something of a disconnect, almost as if I was in a trance. I’m almost not even sure it really happened that way as all, or if memory has distorted it for me. But it doesn’t matter in the end if it was real or not, what matters is what I remember.

I wake up screaming, the way I always do from these nightmares. Even in my waking hours, I cannot escape the past. The gentle Bach I have playing slowly seeps into my consciousness, and I take deep, desperate, gasping breaths as I attempt to anchor myself back to reality. My eyes close and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming again. I’m clenching my sheets in tight fists, and with another shuddering breath I slowly release them.

Once I have calmed down as much as I will be, I immediately notice I am drenched in sweat and my bedding is thoroughly saturated with it. “Gross,” I mutter, and despite the fact that’s it the middle of the night still, I know I won’t be getting any more sleep. Resignedly, I stand and start to strip the bed, then hop in the shower before school. And as much as I hate school, as much as it only caters to the memories I abhor—it also gives me a chance to change them for someone else.

I was told I need to move on and not let what happened overseas define me. But I have erased my past so many times I fear that if I do it again, there will be nothing left to rewrite upon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partying. Lots of it. Conflict in current relationships. Hot hookups. Baby Reiner, because guys who turn into babies when they're drunk can be cute. A very important plot point, er, game. Lots of foreshadowing, although some of it may be very hard to catch at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> So, this chapter is much later than I originally planned for a variety of reasons (1) it took longer to write than I thought it would and (2) the night I planned to post it once it was done, the wifi in my dorm was out. Believe me, I wish I was making that up. 24 hours without wifi gives you a lot of time to think, which leads to reason (3) I decided I hated everything and had to rewrite it.
> 
> I also struggle with writing beginnings, because I get bored and want things to actually happen, but it's not a good idea to write something that bores me for obvious reasons so I have to work harder at it. Anyway, once things start moving updates should come faster. For my NaNos and other WIPs, including my in-progress one, I basically start writing from the middle so I can leave all the boring beginning parts for last, but for something I update as I go along it doesn't work that way.
> 
> So basically, I'm just really sorry.

I can hear the heavy bass blasting from Reiner’s house long before we even pull up to his street, and I wonder how no one in the neighborhood is complaining or calling to police. It’s located in one of those pretentious gated communities, the type that you can only live in if it’s been in the family for since it was built or you’re the type of person who can casually drop a few million on a half-acre lot. I guess his family does have some clout, so that’s probably most why no one has said anything. Whatever it is, I don’t particularly care. I have no idea how I’m going to spend several hours in that house without my ears bleeding. I like loud music as much as the next rebellious teenager, but that doesn’t mean I actually want to go deaf.

Mikasa shifts the car into park with a painful choked sound and she grunts in annoyance, probably realizing she’ll have to get that checked out soon. She’s mostly the one who handles our finances, so she’ll know exactly how much there is to spare on the car. Whatever it is, maintenance is expensive. Even I know that, and I frown, wondering if we can even spare that but knowing we have to. As if sensing my thoughts in that weird way she has, Mikasa sends a half smile in my direction. Pushing that from my mind, I step out of the car and rub my arms quickly to warm up. I did consider bringing a jacket, but it will probably be warm in the house and it would end up being either a pain in the ass to lug around or lost forever.

Mikasa gives me a nod and locks the car before heading off on her own, adjusting her scarf, presumably to find Jean. I still have my doubts about why they’re even together–the attraction has always looked mostly one-sided on Jean’s part to me, but who Mikasa sees is her business, whether I like it or not. As long as we avoid each other, no one gets hurt.

I turn to Armin, who is visibly nervous. He’s chewing on his lower lip, and even though I don’t particularly want to be here, it wouldn’t do him any good to know that, so I smile at him. He smiles back, and without exchanging a word, we head to the house together.

It’s an impressive house, solidly built with a strong silhouette and Greco-Roman architecture with a wide, sweeping archway. The design on the wide double doors plays at art deco, which has an odd, mismatched effect, but it actually works and adds to the grandiose effect. The whiteness of its paint stands out against the starkness of the evening sky, and it has an almost creepy effect. Even from the outside, I can tell the house is huge, which is what makes it the perfect place for a high school party.

As expected, the music is loud enough to make the blood in my head pulse, and looking over at Armin, I can tell he is experiencing the same thing. I lift a hand almost unconsciously and start to rub at my temples, already unsure how I’m going to keep from going insane from all the goddamn noise. I grit my teeth so hard I’m afraid I’m going to break down the enamel and open the door, letting Armin step inside before I close the door behind us.

The house is as impressive inside as it is outside, and it’s easy to see where everyone is because the sounds of drunk laughter and pounding music emanating from the hall. We head in that direction, and the moment we’re there, the crowd swallows us up. I’m tempted to do something stupid like hold Armin’s hand so I don’t lose him, but I quickly think the better of it. I watch him closely as we make our way over to where the drinks are.

Armin grabs a can of beer; I take some of whatever is in the Gatorade dispenser. Logically, I know it’s a stupid thing to do, but I don’t care. Armin makes a face at me, and if it was possible to talk over the noise I know he’d be reprimanding me. I shrug and take a sip. It’s not bad, tasting like the over-sugared, caffeinated juice it is, but I know better than to drink something with so much alcohol all at once. Even if I don’t feel its effects yet, it’ll hit me hard later.

I cup my mouth with my free hand and lean towards his ear, shouting “Let’s see if we can find someone.” He nods, so I know that somehow he’s heard me, and I wonder again whose idea it was to have the music turned up so high. I don’t recognize this artist, but it sounds like some sort of rock, maybe alternative. At least it’s not some sort of bubblegum pop, because I’m not sure I’d put that past Reiner. He puts up a tough front, but I know him well enough to know there’s a lot more to him than that.

We wander around, squeezing through the crowd, and finally reach another room where the people have thinned out. We spot Reiner with Annie, and in silent agreement we head over to greet them. When we’re not far, I try a quick wave; it catches his eye, and he sends a polite smile our way. Annie’s expression doesn’t change, but I don’t know why I expected it to. I don’t see Bert anywhere, but I see Sasha and Connie so we head over to them. 

Sasha is stumbling; Connie has an arm around her waist to keep her upright. He grimaces when he sees us, and I return the expression in sympathy. Of course she would drink too much—he probably should have seen that one coming, but it is what it is. She doesn’t appear to realize she’s drunk, and she’s clutching what looks like straight vodka. Is he seriously letting her drink more?

Connie seems to realize what I’m thinking, though, because he shakes his head at me. “Water,” he mouths, and by the way he says it, I can tell Sasha’s not aware of it. It’s times like these that I get worried for Sasha—she’s lucky enough that her metabolism combined with all the sports she does keep her weight maintained no matter how much she eats, but her addictive personality could be dangerous if she didn’t have Connie to watch out for her. Tonight has cemented that fear, and even though Sasha and I aren’t particularly close, we are friends.

We hang around with Connie for a bit longer, and I can tell he’s more worried about her than he lets on. I can tell he’s uncomfortable with the topic, though, so eventually we segue way into talking about other school. Connie’s smart; he was placed in a more advanced math class than I’m in, and he offers to help me if I ever need help. I smile and accept, but I know, and he probably does too, that I’ll never be taking him up on that offer, even if I do appreciate it. I’m too proud for that.

I eventually realize Armin isn’t at my side anymore. I would normally panic, but I’ve finished my drink the alcohol has loosened me up enough by now that it seems like a minor concern. I turn away from Connie and am greeted by a perky blonde who asks me if I want to dance. She’s cute, and I know I should be thrilled, but I just find myself detached and wondering why she chose me. I eye the dance floor and after considering, reluctantly agree.

There’s something about dancing that’s almost more intoxicating than alcohol. You become addicted to the music whether that was your intention or not, drowning in the harmony of the notes blending together and the vocals of whatever crooning singer this is. For just a moment, I can enjoy the feeling and being a drunk teenager out for a night of fun. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mikasa without Jean, and I open my mouth to say something snarky, but she narrows her eyes, daring me to, so I close it again and turn back to the music.

After a few songs, I excuse myself and head towards the wall, grabbing a can of beer as I do. These types of parties clearly aren’t really my thing, and now that I’ve danced a little I don’t feel the need to participate any further. I reach down for my phone to check the time; it’s only 10:30, so we’ll probably be here at least a few more hours. I sigh and shove my phone back in my pocket, opening my beer and taking a sip. I try not to twist my face in disgust and avoid spitting it on the floor—I’m not sure I’m ever going to understand why people like this stuff.

I can see Jean now, but he’s facing away from me, blocking whomever it is that he’s talking to. Whoever it is, Jean has a hand lingering on their arm, and I can tell by the leather jacket that it’s not Mikasa. Interesting. Could Jean’s eyes be wandering? I want to go closer and try to see who it is, but I’d risk catching Jean’s attention and I’m not drunk enough to deal with his shit right now.

My eyes sweep back to where I saw Mikasa before, but she’s gone now. Part of me wants to find her and tell her what I just saw, but I know that Mikasa is more than capable of taking care of herself. I’m not doing Jean any favors by not telling her, because if anything is going on, she knows it now or she will soon, and my accusations aren’t going to help, not when she already knows how much I dislike him. Still, it pisses me off, and I slam my drink down on the table to absorb my anger. The beer sloshes around and over my hand, effectively creating a mess.

Shit. I leave the beer where it is, but I’m not so sloppy that I’m going to dry my (now sticky) hand off on my pants. That’s fucking disgusting, so I squeeze my way through the hall and wander past the doors, hoping for a relatively clean and unoccupied bathroom. Probably a lot to hope for, but as long as there’s a functioning sink, I’m not complaining.

How the fuck am I supposed to know if one of these is a bathroom if I just keep walking past doors, though? I’m not an idiot and I know half of these rooms are going to be occupied. Taking a deep breath, I open a door.

Okay. Empty, but the sofa is askew and there’s trash on the ground. Still, no sink. Next door. This one features two girls making out very enthusiastically and they don’t seem to notice me, so I quietly close the door. It isn’t until after the door is shut that I would have sworn I saw a flash of red scarf on one of the girls.

No time to think about that now. I finally find a bathroom, and though it’s a total shitstorm, it’s unoccupied and I manage to rinse my hand off. I turn back down the hall and pause at the door I opened before. It’s slightly open now, so I don’t know if I just didn’t close the door properly or if they’re just not in there anymore. I don’t have the courage to check.

I scan the room again, and this time my eyes land on Armin. I’m about to go over to him when I see that he’s talking to…Annie? That’s a surprise if I’ve ever seen one, and though she isn’t smiling, she doesn’t appear to be any more annoyed than she usually does. It’s so unexpected that I can’t help staring. Armin is gesticulating that way he does when he gets excited about something, and Annie has on her standard bored expression, complete with chin tilted up, arms folded, one leg bent and pressed against the wall.

I don’t want to interrupt them and I’m starting to feel out of place, so I head towards the back, figuring there must be an exit somewhere so I can get some air. It isn’t long until I find one without incident, and I slip outside and avoid the party for the better part of the night, entertaining myself with the Zippo lighter I usually have on me. The dancing flame tempts me and I flick the flames with my fingers, too fast for the fire to burn me but not quickly enough to forget that it could. The wind’s fingers tug at my hair and I’m reminded all too much of how much damage fire can do.

I don’t know what time it is by the time the party has died down a bit, and the music has significantly lessened in volume. I wander around and look for someone I know. I place my fingers on the railing and climb the stairs to the second floor. Spread out on the floor are most of the usual gang, and I wonder how long they’ve been up here. Everyone is clearly at various levels of intoxication, and there’s bubbly laughter that slips out every few moments.

Annie is standing off a ways from Reiner and Bert, who are standing so close they’re almost holding hands. They are a rumored couple, and looking closer, there’s a faint blush on Bert’s cheeks. From the beer or from being so close to Reiner? It’s difficult to say, and I have a feeling their relationship is more complicated than it appears. I’m not the only who has seen the looks Bert gives Annie. But she’s so good at internalizing her own feelings that no one knows if the feeling is mutual.

I don’t see Jean anywhere, nor do I see the wearer of the mysterious leather jacket. I can’t help but wonder if they’re off together somewhere, and I slide my eyes over to Mikasa just to see if she looks distressed. She doesn’t—she isn’t smiling, but her expression conveys nothing negative. Sasha is curled up in a chair asleep, presumably from all the alcohol, and Connie is standing next to her, probably to make sure no one plays any pranks on her. It’s sweet the way he always protects her, and sad how she doesn’t even notice.

I’m not sure what to do, so I hesitate for a moment before joining Mikasa, who’s with Armin. He touches my arm briefly, concerned about my alcohol level, probably. When I don’t fall over, he seems satisfied. I’m not the one driving us home, after all, so I don’t need to be as sober as Mikasa is. And, knowing her, she would have drank very little if at all, knowing she’s going to be responsible for Armin and me after the party. Sometimes, I’m glad that she’s so determined to take care of me. We chat casually for a bit before Reiner announces, “I’m bored.”

I swear the room freezes; it’s freakishly quiet for a minute while everyone tries to decide what to do. Annie just looks bored, and Mikasa doesn’t look ruffled either. For a moment, I think that they’re so alike in some ways, but I’m distracted when Reiner interrupts again. “I want to play a game.”

This is unexpectedly childish of him, even though the rumors claim his parties sometimes involve games like this. And, looking closer, he’s pretty deeply inebriated. People do have different tastes and personalities when they’re drunk, and apparently Reiner reverts to a middle-schooler. Well, to each his own.

It’s quiet as everyone waits for him to speak again, and finally, he does.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good game of truth or dare.”

Mikasa is right beside me, so I can hear her mutter, “Yeah, probably just as long as it’s been since—” I don’t know what she was about to say, but she shuts her mouth at a look from Armin. Various looks are exchanged around the room, and after a few minutes of silent communication, we all decide we have enough alcohol in our systems to humor Reiner.

I for one am loathe to agree, but it’s better than a lot of other stupid games. Besides, the alcohol is starting to catch up to me. I’m not drunk enough that I’m coherent enough to recognize my stupid decisions, but I’m also drunk enough not to care.

What the hell is this though? Even drunk, why am I going along with this? My head hurts, and I don’t even want to be here. It’s ridiculous, and I can tell we all know it is, but we’re still young enough that whatever happens tonight, we’ll just blame it on not being old enough or sober enough to know better. 

“Annie. Truth or dare.” Without any sort of introduction, Reiner’s eyes zero in on Annie, but she doesn’t look bothered at all. She doesn’t look excited, either—she inspects her nails as her usual voice says, “Dare.”

Reiner was obviously expecting this, because he doesn’t hesitate. “I dare you to drink a pint of vodka. Straight.”

We’re young, but we’re not morons, and we all know that’s probably a really stupid thing to do. But it’s a game, and what is a game without danger, so we all keep our mouths shut and see what she’ll do.

Annie doesn’t look fazed, but I shouldn’t have expected her to. Of course she’s going to do it. Annie doesn’t let anyone get the better of her, and she walks over to the table where various bottles of alcohol are scattered, and carefully picks out the vodka lying on its side. Without even bothering to get a cup, she unscrews the lid and drinks from the bottle.

We all watch her, strangely enraptured, and finally she sets the bottle down and wipes her mouth. No one questions whether or not she actually drank a pint, because everyone knows she did. Annie isn’t one to cheat. There’s a slight wobble in her walk as she takes her place again at the wall, but other than that, she seems fine. I wonder if it will hit her all later, or if she’s actually some sort of superhuman.

Annie doesn’t move once she’s leaning against the wall again, but her eyes scan the room. I can almost see just from her eyes how stupid she thinks this is, and I know the only reason she’s going along with it at all is that Reiner is one of her oldest friends. Whatever else one can say about her, she appears to be loyal to her friends.

She finally settles on Mikasa, and only then do her lips curve into a slight smile. “Mikasa,” she says, her voice dropping an octave or so, almost seductive, “Truth or dare?”

Mikasa straightens, refusing to be intimidated. “Dare,” she says without hesitating. The tension in the room heightens and I think everyone feels the mood in the room tighten.

Annie smiles again. “Mikasa,” she repeats. “I dare you to kiss someone in this room.”

It isn’t like I think Mikasa is some pure, innocent virgin. Still, she’s my sister, and it’s weird to think of her kissing and having sex. Just thinking about it now makes my face scrunch up, and I hurriedly smooth out my features before anyone catches on.

The fact that Annie hasn’t said a name makes it clear that this is more of a challenge than just a harmless dare, and I wonder if something happened between them before. Annie and Mikasa generally don’t interact much, but that’s changed lately.

Mikasa’s eyes flash and she doesn’t smile. I watch as she scans the room, her eyes lingering on no one for longer than a few moments. She shoves off the wall next to me and walks straight towards Annie, looking straight into the shorter girl’s eyes. Electricity flashes between them before Mikasa bends her neck and presses her lips to Annie’s. It’s a short, unremarkable kiss, and when it’s over, Mikasa turns on her heel and heads back over to me. It’s strange, but I would swear her cheeks are flushed. Wisely, though, I choose not to say anything about it. 

Everyone else is the room appears to be in various states of embarrassment, as if they just witnessed something very private, and I have a feeling that we did. I eye Mikasa again and this time I’m sure she’s blushing. I pretend not to notice.

Mikasa bites her lip, the only sign that her guard is down, before taking up a cool, disinterested expression. I already know she won’t call on me, because people already think she gives me too much attention, and even though no one says anything to her face about it she isn’t an idiot. She looks around the room as my interest in watching the game wanes. With any luck, I won’t have to worry about being called on and I can go home and finally get some fucking sleep. I wish we had left when we had the chance, and having to wait out this stupid game is annoying but it won’t go over well with Reiner if we leave now. He’s not a bad guy, but anyone would be annoyed.

I’m absentmindedly fingering the chains on my jeans when I realize someone has called my name, and I focus, looking up. It’s Reiner, and after a few moments I understand that he’s asking me the obligatory question. Shit.

“Truth or dare?”

At the time, I had no idea that a single word would be such a pivot point. All I wanted was to get this goddamned game over with. I would look back on this months later and wonder where I would be if I had chosen differently. But no one ever knows what could have happened, and I never could bring myself to regret my choice in spite of everything that happened. 

“Dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise they meet in the next chapter. They were originally going to meet in this one, but once I rewrote it to add more for background stories their meeting ended up getting pushed back. And hopefully I won't take as long this time.
> 
> I admit that I could have added more to this chapter, but I like keeping things dramatic, so I am sorry for the cliché ending, only not that sorry.
> 
> I love anyone who's ever taken a moment to read any of this, and if you're still here at the end of chapter three, here, have a special place in my heart ♥ *blows kisses through screen*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's dare. What else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is late because...it is. I really don't have a good reason, and I'm sorry. One day I will get better at this, I swear.
> 
> Anyway, I edited this on the plane today and received some very judgmental looks from the lady sitting next to me. Jeez. This isn't even the porn part.

I regret the word almost as soon as it leaves my mouth, but still, no one chooses truth. It’s like the unspoken rule of truth or dare–you only choose truth if you’re a total wimp. There’s something dangerous in Reiner’s smile, and I already know I’m not going to like what he’s planning. His lips curl, mocking me, and I have to struggle to keep a straight face.

“All right, Eren,” Reiner says. Bert shoots him a glance but doesn’t say anything, and that only worries me more. “There’s a bartender who’s legendary in this town. Do you know him?”

I shoot him a glare, not sure where this is going and vaguely annoyed. “Spit it out, Reiner,” I say, just for the sake of having something to say.

“They call him Humanity’s Finest.”

An overdramatic silence follows, and I don’t know why Reiner looks at me expectantly, like he thinks I should know who this is or something. I might drink at parties, but I don’t sneak into clubs in my free time and it’s not like he doesn’t know that. After several seconds of silence, he sighs.

“Humanity’s Finest. Legend. Rumor places him everywhere from the Italian mafia to the Russian underground. Makes the best drinks in the city. Best known for his Sina Rose. No one knows exactly what’s in one, but rumor has it they taste like nobody’s business.” He pauses, grins. “Also, he’s sexy as hell.”

I think Reiner is probably exaggerating parts of that for dramatic effect, but I don’t care enough to make a big deal about it. He can have his fantasies if he wants. “Is there a fucking point to this, Reiner?”

He smirks and I suddenly realize that the drink must be affecting him in a different way now. Why couldn’t he just stay the way he was before? Well, not much I can do about it, so I keep my mouth shut this time. I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“It’s Friday night, so he’ll be at Elixir.”

“And?” Why the hell is he dragging this out so much?

“I dare you to get him to make you a Sina Rose.”

Why couldn’t it be something simple, or even something where I wouldn’t have to go to a fucking bar? My head is pounding. “Reiner, this is fucking stupid, how am I even supposed to get in—“

He cuts me off. “That won’t be a problem. I blow—I know a guy.”

I doubt anyone’s missed Reiner’s drunken slip of the tongue, but everyone is too preoccupied to bring it to attention right now. I slide my glance over to Bert to see if there’s a reaction there, but nothing is instantly obvious. Either he’s very good at hiding his surprise, or this isn’t news to him.

“Look, Reiner, I don’t think that’s actually possible. Even if you can get me in, why would he serve some underage kid his signature cocktail?”

“So convince him it’s worth his time.”

“But—“

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

My head snaps up. “No. I’ll do it.”

Mikasa stares daggers at me, and I know she doesn’t like this. She also knows better than to try and talk me out of it, or to say anything about it right now in front of everyone, but I know I’ll be getting an earful later.

Reiner grins, like he knew I would say yes. He probably did, and that’s why it’s me and not someone else doing this now. My pride is a sore point for me and there are few people who don’t know it.

Some quick decisions are made, and Reiner decides to take me the bar because he needs to get me in. Bertholdt opts in as well, possibly to keep an eye on him. Mikasa then staunchly says that she is going along, and Reiner knows better than to argue with her on that. I shoot her an I-can-take-care-of-myself glare, and she pretends not to see it.

Mikasa also insists on driving, so we all get into her car, the engine making that painful sound again as she revs the engine. I wince and resolve to see if I can find a job soon. I’m too young to legally work, but there’s a key word in that.

Reiner gives directions that end up being somewhat wrong in between yelling vague physical traits of this “Humanity’s Finest” at me (“black hair,” “fucking short,” incredibly helpful things like that) and delineating in explicit specificity the rumors surround him, but we eventually make it there after a few wrong turns. There’s a bright, neon purple sign marking the bar as “Elixir” in way-too-fancy script. White lights flash around the purple, creating a surprisingly simple but eye-catching display.

Reiner hops out, insisting that Mikasa wait in the car, and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue. She stares at the wheel and says nothing to me as I follow Reiner out. Bert stays in the car as well.

I’m led over to a side entrance manned by a guy with badly dyed blond dreadlocks and puffing on a cigarette. Reiner says something to him that I don’t catch, and I look over him critically. Is this really Reiner’s type? Not that it’s any of my business, but I still wonder.

Dreadlocks grunts something back and opens the door. Reiner nods and for a moment, I catch a glint genuine concern in his eyes. Even if he is being difficult right now, he’s still a friend. And that counts for something, even though I’m going to be so pissed at him when I feel exhausted tomorrow.

I scan the room and I step inside awkwardly, and the door closes behind me, blocking the chill of the night air, which I am grateful for. Loud, cheesy jazz music blasts from the speakers, but it almost sounds like a whisper compared to the volume of Reiner’s music earlier.

I know who he is immediately. I don’t know how I know what with Reiner’s bullshit descriptions, but I do. At first all I can see is black hair, before he turns back to face the woman he’s serving, all the while never smiling, looking incredibly bored and as if he would rather be doing anything else.

Holy shit. He’s gorgeous.

Black hair that’s undercut, fringe falling over his forehead. It should look strange, but it doesn’t. His piercing blue eyes are thickly lined in kohl and demand attention. An easy, mocking smile plays at his lips now as he leans on the counter with one arm, but it never reaches his eyes. There are rings on all five fingers of his left hand, and two on his right, one on the index finger and one on the ring finger. His black V-neck plunges at least twice as deep as anything I would ever wear, revealing layered metallic necklaces. My eyes are automatically drawn downward, towards his hips. I suddenly wish the counter wasn’t in the way, and I hate that I’m thinking about that.

I make my way over to the bar, trying to walk with purpose, like I actually belong. I doubt I’m fooling anyone, but probably no one actually cares about what the 15-year-old kid is doing in the bar, not when there are more important things to focus on, like the dealer selling cocaine in the back booth and the couple practically having sex against the wall.

The bar is only a few steps away now and I suddenly have no idea how I’m going to do this. How I do everything else, I guess. Wing it.

“Humanity’s Finest?” I blurt out after I sit down, and I am mortified to feel a blush spread across my cheeks. Shit. Shit. I quickly compose myself. This is not off to a good start.

He turns towards me slowly, languidly, and my mortification heightens. “Call me Levi, kid.” He smirks and hands the woman he was talking to her drink. She accepts it with a smile. She’s cute, petite with shiny hair, but I barely notice. I’m too caught up in Hu—Levi. From close up, he’s no less beautiful, but he has tired eyes. Though his skin is otherwise smooth, there are lines above his eyes. He has eyes that have seen too much. It’s a pretty poetic thought of me to have, but there’s no other way I can describe it. There is something in his eyes that makes me think he must have been through something difficult.

“Did you come just to stare at me? If so, you can get the fuck out. I have actual customers, you know.”

I take back the shit about the poetic eyes. This guy is just a jackass. It must just be the dim lighting in here or something, or the alcohol affecting my brain. He’s probably some spoiled rich brat who just took the job out of boredom. Whatever Reiner said about him, rumors are rumors and they’re probably untrue.

“Shut up. Of course not,” I seem to have found my voice again, and though the words coming out of my mouth probably could have been better considering I need him to agree to make me a drink, at least I’m saying something.

“I’m here because—” I don’t know what I planned on saying after that, but I never get the chance to finish.

“Yeah, no, I really don’t care,” he says. “I assumed you would be gone already, so seriously, get the fuck out. I wasn’t kidding about the customers.”

Fuck. At this rate, he’s not even going to give me the time of day, let alone get me a drink. Why the fuck did I agree to this? Goddamn pride.

I’m actually seriously pissed off now though. Despite my height, I know there’s no way I could even pass for eighteen, let alone twenty-one. Maybe seventeen at the most, but I’m not sure that matters. It’s pretty clear he knows I’m not supposed to be in here, but I’ve got to do something. I am not failing this stupid dare. I’m going to have to change tactics and stop acting like some kid.

When I look back again, he’s already lost interest and is serving another drink, this time to a woman with somewhat frizzy dark hair and glasses. He seems to know her on a more personal level, because she’s talking animatedly, gesticulating rather wildly with her arms, and he’s actually listening. At least, he appears to be. Her smile is one of those infectious ones, leaning a little towards crazy but clearly full of genuine joy, but Levi doesn’t appear to be affected.

As far as I can tell, the drinks he’s serving are nothing special, but it’s not like I know for sure. Damn. I’m going to have to get his attention somehow, and make him actually listen to me.

“Levi, I—“

He whirls to face me, and as he does, the chains on his belt and his jewelry jangle. “Why the fuck are you still here?” He doesn’t even sound angry, just bored, as if he can’t believe that I’m still sitting here even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

“Look, I really need—“

“Hey, brat, do I actually look like I give a fuck? My bad.” He turns away, apparently done with the conversation, but I’m not. I clench my fists and try to resist launching myself over the counter and shoving his nose into his face.

“Stop fucking cutting me off,” I say, and I’m surprised that he actually lets me finish. His eyes are rolling over me for the first time, and for once he doesn’t say anything. Maybe it’s simple curiosity, or maybe he just figures if he pays attention to me for a few minutes that I’ll leave. Probably the latter, considering it isn’t like he’s shown the slightest interest before now.

I’m about to open my mouth again when I realize I probably should have come up with some sort of plan before talking again. Why I do I always let my mouth run away from me? I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m not even giving myself time to process how to do this. How the fuck do people order drinks from bars? Do they just say, “Give me a Bloody Mary” or some shit? Who the fuck knows the names of all the different drinks anyway and why aren’t they posted somewhere?

Then again, I’m not sure that just asking for it is going to work for me anyway since not only am I clearly underage, but I need a drink that probably wouldn’t be on the menu anyway, since according to Reiner he won’t mix the Sina Rose for just anyone.

Fuck it. I’m just going to have to go for it. I feel indescribably awkward and I fist my hands into my jeans.

“I need a Sina Rose.” That probably couldn’t have sounded any dumber if I had wanted it to, and I force back the blood that is threatening to creep across my cheeks. I feel completely out of my element, and I’m starting to feel even more uncomfortable. I’m so unused to feeling uncomfortable that my discomfort actually discomforts me further.

I look up, and there’s genuine amusement on Levi’s face now, an amused half smirk teasing his lips. “Kid, you’re going to have to be at least ten years older and a hell of a lot hotter if you want to get that from me.”

Fuck this guy. Part of me is ready to turn around and leave, sick of being insulted, but that would be admitting defeat, and that is something I am not about to do. “But I really need it.” My voice is embarrassingly pathetic, and I feel like a child being told no. That is not what I intended to say, and I feel really childish for the first time since coming in. This was a terrible idea. I’m going to have to be more aggressive if I want this, but I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point, if it ever even was.

“Can you just get me one before I lose my temper?”

He actually laughs at this, a short, sharp laugh that only lasts a few seconds before it’s gone just as suddenly as it arrived.

“Before you lose you temper? What the fuck kind of threat is that? Are you going to leap over the counter and throw a few punches? I can give them right back to you, brat. You might be getting away with sitting here even you are clearly way too young to be here right now because no one is paying attention, but I wouldn’t recommend making a scene. If they want to throw you out—best possible scenario, by the way—I’m not going to tell them not to.”

This is so fucking frustrating. It’s like he knows exactly what to say to piss me off, and that pisses me off even more. I twist my fists into my own thighs so I don’t do something stupid like punch the bar. Whenever I get angry, I have to quell the old desire to fight.

“Let me guess,” Levi says suddenly, without preamble.

I look up, wary, but he doesn’t appear to be mocking me. Actually, there doesn’t appear to be any emotion on his face at all. He’s leaning on his right elbow, his chin propped up with his hand in the classic “you are fascinating and I hang on every word you say” look, but it’s not quite right on him. Still, I don’t say anything about it since it looks like maybe he just might actually say something that doesn’t make me want to ram my head into the wall, and once he sees that I’m paying attention, he goes on.

“High school party. Everyone’s drunk, starts making stupid bets. Someone tells you about ‘Humanity’s Finest’ and his ‘Sina Rose,’ challenges you to get your hands on one. Red-blooded teenager that you are, you couldn’t refuse the challenge. So you get here, then realize it’s completely futile, because I’m not a fucking moron.”

That’s…not exactly how it happened, but still surprisingly accurate. I guess even if he is an asshole, he’s still a bartender, and he’s probably pretty good at getting reads on people. “Something like that,” I mutter, tracing designs on the table. I don’t have the heart to keep up the act any longer.

“There’s no fucking way you’re getting a Sina Rose from me. I only mix those for guys I’ve fucked, or guys I have every intention of fucking.” I didn’t expect him to be gay, so that’s…interesting. I admire him for being able to be so open about it because god knows not everyone is as accepting of different sexualities as they should be. Least of all teenagers. I should know that better than anyone. But that’s not something I want to think about now, or ever.

But…it might be something I have to think about. Later. Always later.

Before I know exactly what I’m doing, I’m up on the barstool, reaching over the counter and grabbing the gorgeous, asshole bartender by his shirt, and pressing my mouth to his. It’s a sloppy, poorly executed kiss, and Levi is too frozen with shock to react. Seconds pass, and then it’s over as soon as it began. My breath comes harder and faster than usual even though it was such a short kiss. It’s not my first kiss, but it is my first in months.

My fingers uncurl and release his shirt and sit back, hating that I can feel myself blushing. He doesn’t move from his position from where I’d pulled him half-forward, his hips flush against the edge of the counter. The top of his shirt is still faintly wrinkled from where I’d clutched it, and it’s pulled up to expose an inch of skin down by his hips. What the hell got into me?

I cast several quick, surreptitious glances to the areas around me, suddenly frantic that someone has noticed. But, just like they overlooked the obviously underage kid walking into the bar earlier, they’re either too wrapped up in their own business or someone else’s to notice, let alone care.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but that was only because I told myself not to think it through. Now that I am thinking about it, I’m embarrassed by my actions. I don’t even like guys. But it was just what he said about making Sina Roses for guys he had an intention of fucking, and I thought—well, looking back on it, it seems completely stupid of me to think that. I’m fifteen, and he’s—in his late twenties, probably? I seriously doubt he’d consider me good fucking material, not when he’s probably able to get almost any guy he wants.

I fold my hands in my lap and refuse to look up, not that I could possibly make any more of a fool of myself than I just did. The silence that follows the kiss is horrible and goes by far too slowly.

Then Levi laughs. It’s the same sharp laugh as before, but this time there’s more amusement behind it, and I wish I could sink into the floor. What the hell possessed me to do something like that? Did I really think that could work?

After a few long moments, his laughter subsides and I hear his footsteps walking away. I stay in my seat and take a few deep breaths to collect myself before I go back outside and tell Reiner that I couldn’t do it and accept whatever the “punishment” will be.

Finally, I go to stand up when I’m stopped by a voice saying, “Oi, brat, where do you think you’re going?”

I cover my embarrassment with indignation and annoyance. “Like you give a fuck that I’m leaving.”

“I don’t,” he says simply. “You can walk out right now if you want to, and I couldn’t care less. But…” he continues, tapping something with his fingertips, “I thought you might be interested in this. But if you’re not, it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

I look up, and I don’t know much about drinks, but I know enough to know that the one in front of me is something special. It is pale pink at the top, deepening gradually until the bottom of the glass is a gorgeous dark red. On the top rests an arrangement of leaves more or less in the shape of a pair of wings, and the rim of the glass is coated in sparkling sugar. Just looking at it is almost seductive.

I know what it is, but the only word that comes out of my mouth is a shocked and hesitant “W-w-what?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got some guts, kid. But don’t go around bragging, because I don’t need word getting around that I serve shitty brats like you highly alcoholic drinks.”

I eye it and turn it by twisting the top, the way people always do in movies when they’re trying to figure out exactly what it is, even though my limited knowledge of alcohol isn’t telling me much besides “pink.”

“How much alcohol, exactly?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Don’t know the exact figure, but probably at least 30%. Lots of hard stuff in there.” He stops, considers. “Well, maybe more like 25%. But even so.”

I don’t know much about drinks, but I do know that is relatively high. You could get drunk pretty fast on one of these, and the glass is of a pretty good size.

He’s still looking at me, and somehow I know he’s waiting for me to try it. I have to bring it back to show Reiner, of course, but there’s no reason I can’t have a sip now.

I take the glass in hand, the cold of it seeping between my fingers. A sickly sweet scent rises off the surface of the drink, and I lick part of the rim of the glass before anything else. I immediately regret doing so because I know that is something a kid would do. I can tell Levi is thinking the same thing because he face twists into a smirk.

Steeling myself, I lift the glass to my mouth again, this time taking a sip. I’m not sure exactly what it tastes like besides strawberries and vodka until I taste something…other. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but suddenly I realize why this drink is so highly coveted by Reiner. It’s easily the best-tasting thing I’ve ever drank, and I want more but even after a small sip I can feel the alcohol rushing to my head, probably because I was drinking earlier as well. With some care, I set the glass back down on the counter.

Levi has already walked away, but as if he senses my eyes on him, he pivots at the waist and tosses a wink my way. I feel the blush starting and I force it back. He’s a jackass, and someone I don’t even know, not to mention a guy. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s stupid. I think he’s pretty, I’ll admit it. But he’s also a complete jerk. I don’t want to know more about him.

I shake my head and pick up the drink and make my way out of the bar. I think I’m probably stealing their glass, but for some reason this doesn’t bother me at the moment. I nod to Dreadlocks and he nods back as I head outside. Reiner’s there with Bert and Mikasa, and at first I can only catch snippets of their conversation.

“…should have done something else…”

“…disappointed…you…he is not…”

“…do it…”

“…don’t think so…”

“…you’re so…no, don’t…”

I can’t tell if they’re talking about the dare or something else, and just as can start to hear them more clearly, they can also hear me as well, and they jump apart and immediately stop talking. Mikasa, oddly, looks noticeably guilty, but I dismiss it quickly. It’s likely my imagination, and even if it’s not she won’t tell me unless she wants to.

Reiner’s eyes widen when he sees the glass, and I grin as I hold it up. I don’t even have to tell him it’s the real thing—it’s imposing enough that he already knows. “You thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t you?” I say. He doesn’t answer, because though I phrased it like a question we both know it is not one.

“No fucking way,” he says. “No. Fucking. Way.”

I shrug and take a sip with as much showmanship and flamboyancy as I can muster just to show off. I deserve it after what I went through to get the fucking thing. He’s still staring, his shock apparently, and I know I’m grinning like an idiot but I can’t help it. I still feel strange about what I did to actually get to this point, but I know I need to forget about it.

Reiner is still muttering is disbelief as we get back into the car and head back to his place to update everyone, since Reiner is apparently too shocked to text everyone this information, Mikasa is driving, and I don’t know why Bert isn’t texting. I, for one, am too busy reveling in my victory to bother to send out any texts.

When we get back to the house, I enjoy the disbelief and word vague, noncommittal responses when someone asks me how I managed it. There is no way I am sharing that part, For the most part, they’re all wrapped up more in the fact that I did it that how I did it is less important.

It’s not until later that I remember he said he only mixes the Sina Rose for guys he plans on fucking. And even then, it’s only something I remember when I’m just about to fall asleep, and then I forget completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote two versions of this chapter. One you see above, and the other involves Eren not getting the drink and a slightly differing chain of events. Ultimately, they both lead to the same place, and I decided I liked this one better. I hope you enjoyed it too!
> 
> THINGS planned for chapter next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, basically. Another meeting, not under the best circumstances. It hurts me to do this too, but I had it planned from the beginning and it needed to happen. It's a bit short, because, frankly, it was painful to write. I am not the biggest fan of writing sad things. But I also like writing sad things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been a while. I've actually wanted to post before this, but I really hate proofreading. But, I also really hate posting things that are not proofread...for obvious reasons, I should think. I actually have about three more chapters written right now, so as long as I actually proofread regularly there shouldn't be more than a week between updates.
> 
> Hopefully.
> 
> Anyway, I'm guessing school's started back up for those of you still in school like me? I started last week. I hope everything's going well on that end, and that you have classes you enjoy! And not too much homework. Well, that might be pushing it.

I blink as I wake up, then roll over and grab my clock to check the time. It’s around two-fifteen in the afternoon, and the blood in my head is pounding ferociously with the dregs of a hangover. I immediately regret drinking so much last night as I fish around in the drawer of my nightstand for ibuprofen. When I grasp the container, I open it up and dry-swallow three of the pills. Logically, I know I probably shouldn’t be taking so many at once, but I can’t seem to bring myself to actually care.

My head clears a little as the pounding subsides, and my face flames as memories of last night’s kiss surface, but I shove them aside as I throw the covers off me and stumble blindly out of bed. I hit my hip against the nightstand, causing everything on it to shift and me to reach out and barely grab the cheap Target lamp to keep it from falling. I shove everything that slid to the edges back into to center but don’t bother to rearrange anything. Once I reset it, I yank on a pair of jeans and head out into the kitchen.

Mikasa is nowhere is sight, so I help myself first to a glass of ice water. It helps to clear my bleary eyesight a little, and I throw open the fridge to grab a can of Sprite for some carbonation. I accidentally snap the tab off before the drink is open, and in annoyance I jam the tab into the can until the seal breaks. I gulp it down in about a minute, and then I’m ready to eat something.

I open the pantry and pull out a full box of Ritz crackers. Taking that and another Sprite plus a Coke, I head over to the couch and plop down to eat and watch some TV. It’s a small, inexpensive TV that is barely HD, but it does get satellite, so usually there’s something worth watching.

I turn on the TV with the remote and some bad reality show is on. Even though she’d never admit it, Mikasa watches them sometimes when she thinks I’m not paying attention. I have no idea why, but it’s not like I’m in any sort of position to judge. I start flipping through the channels, eventually settling on a rerun episode of some popular show.

Since it’s not something I follow, however, I have a difficult time focusing, and my mind starts to wander. Why did I kiss him? Part of it was desperation, I’m sure, but when I look back on that moment there is already so much that I cannot remember about it. I know it would be easiest if I could just forget it, but the more I try not to think about it the more I think about it.

It bothers me even more that I remember exactly what he looked like, with his low-rise jeans and V-neck tee. I’m thinking way too much of the way he smirked at me, his bangs falling into his blue eyes. Without realizing it, I’ve crushed the empty Sprite can between my fisted fingers.

I hate him, and I hate that I can’t stop thinking of him.

I glare at the TV, watching detachedly and not even trying to make sense of what’s going on. I just need anything to take my mind off of him.

A faint buzzing in the background breaks into my thoughts and it takes me a few moments to realize it’s the doorbell. I’m not particularly in the mood to speak with anyone, but I stand up anyway. I yawn as I head over to the door, falling against the wall just once and causing one of the picture frames on the wall to drop off and shatter. It’s one of those trendy black and white photographs with just a single object colored—in this case, the bouquet my mother is holding as she turns to face my father, a happy laugh on her face.

I leave it there and step to the door, tiredly undoing the locks before pulling the door open. At first I see only blonde hair, before blinking a few times. I see light blue sneakers paired with jeans in a light denim wash, and then a T-shirt with Rilakkuma printed on it, partially obscured by a pale pink cardigan. Such an ensemble could only belong to one person I know, and when I look up, I see that it is indeed Krista.

Her straight blonde hair is falling loosely over her shoulders, and she’s biting her lip, as if nervous. I don’t see Ymir with her, which strikes me as a bit odd—but then again, I suppose they cannot spend all of their time together. She squeaks and her cheeks turn pink when she sees me—probably because I haven’t put a shirt on. I mumble an apology and say I’ll get one in a minute.

Without asking, Krista steps inside and carefully unlaces her snow boots to remove them, all without saying a word. I go to put a shirt on and by the time I come back, her expression is serious, something I haven’t seen on her in a long time. Krista is always smiling now. She didn’t so much before, but recently it seems like she’s so happy that she wants everyone else to feel that too.

I’m starting to feel a bit weirded out by the time she takes my hand and pulls me over to the sofa, sitting down with me. She puts both of her hands over the one of mine, and she doesn’t let go of me as she takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes.

“Eren,” she says first, her voice as sweet and musical as always, but there’s worry and darkness in it today, too. Despite the naturally soft overtones of her voice, I can tell she doesn’t like what she’s about to say. I’m tempted to push her, and I probably would if it was anyone else, but I can’t do that to Krista.

She squeezes my hand with both of hers, inhaling deeply again. “I want you to stay calm when I tell you this,” she says, chewing on her lip again. “Okay?” It’s very much like Krista to drag something that is obviously bad news out, but it does make it hard on me. I’m not one to start thinking of everything that could possibly be wrong, but I am starting to feel worried.

I just look at her, and with that she understands that I can’t promise anything. I can’t promise to stay calm when I have no idea what she’s going to tell me. She takes another deep breath, holding my hand tightly again. “It’s Mikasa,” she says. “There’s been an accident.”

The room spins, freezes, starts spinning again. Krista starts talking again, probably trying to explain what happened, but I don’t hear anything. I can’t see past the swirl of colors spinning across my vision. After losing my mom, Mikasa is all I have left. Unless you count my asshole of a father, which I certainly don’t. The rooms distorts, rearranges itself, looks surreal as I collapse.

 

I’m awoken sometime later, with Krista’s face right over mine. When I blink my eyes open, she moves back and puts a hand over her heart, looking relieved. “Thank goodness, Eren, I was so worried,” she says. She’s holding a glass of ice water, which she hands to me. “Drink,” she orders. I do. The cool water is a welcome relief to my dry throat and addled brain.

“Hospital,” I say once I’ve finished the glass, clumsily setting it down on the table. Krista catches it before it topples over. “I’ve got to see Mikasa.”

Krista hesitates, chewing on her lower lip again, twisting her fingers together. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she states simply. “But, if you really want to go, we can.”

“I really want to go.”

“Okay. Then go get your coat.”

I head back to my room again and grab something that’s not so much a coat as it is a simple jacket, but leave it to Krista to make it sound more sophisticated than it is. I slip it on with my shoes before going back to the living room.

Krista looks up from her phone when I get back, a tentative smile on her face, the kind you give when normally you’d be smiling fully but cannot due to something tragic happening. The kind of smile you give when you want to smile but have to be aware of the people around you.

“Ymir’s coming to get us so we don’t have to take the bus.”

“Great.” It comes out sounding more sarcastic and less grateful than I had meant it to, but with Mikasa on my mind I can’t be bothered to apologize.

We lapse into an awkward silence, and eventually Krista comes over and puts her hand over mine. I hesitate only a moment before I pull away. I like Krista, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I don’t need anyone to comfort me.

She looks a little hurt as she pulls away, and I immediately regret my decision, but feel too awkward to take her hand again. I know she only had the best intentions, and yet the idea of letting someone else comfort me is impossible to comprehend. She moves a little away from me and I start to fidget uncomfortably.

It seems like forever passes as I sit numbly, unable to think of anything to distract myself. Hearing Ymir’s car horn signaling her arrival is one of the best things I’ve ever heard.

Krista and I stand to leave and I hear Mikasa’s voice reminding me to check that all the appliances are turned off. I quickly make a round in the kitchen and realze the blender is still plugged in, probably from when I used it yesterday afternoon. I’m surprised Mikasa didn’t notice.

I lock the door behind us and slide into the backseat of Ymir’s car, reveling silently in how warm it is. I love being in cars when it is cold because Mikasa and I rarely turn our thermostat above 20 in the winter, just enough to keep us from freezing but not nearly enough to keep us from having to wear warm clothing and use blankets in order to stay warm. I rub my arms and thanks to the heat, I quickly warm up.

The hospital isn’t far, and we’re there all too soon. I hop out of the car and don’t bother to wait for Ymir or Krista, even though I know I’m being rude. Mikasa would scold me if she were here.

I head straight to the front desk and tell them I’m Mikasa Ackerman’s brother and I’d like to visit her. Then I have to show my ID and explain to them the whole different last names thing and I wish again that my mother had just changed it when we adopted her.

After about five minutes of, “I’m her brother, dammit,” they finally agree to let me in and print a day pass for me. “She’s in the ICU,” the woman tells me, handing me the badge and telling me to clip it to my shirt.

Fuck. She’s in the ICU. Even I know that’s not a good thing.

I walk away from the receptionist as she’s talking and check the map to see what floor Mikasa is on—the ICU is located on the third floor. I should remember that from before, probably, but some memories are easier to block out than remember.

I get into the elevator and repeatedly press the close door button to try to keep other people from getting in with me. I really don’t want any company right now, even if it’s just a short ride. The doors close with a soft thump and the elevator starts to rise.

I get to the floor and have to wash my hands before entering the ICU. They also hand me a surgical mask, for “extra protection.” Apparently, even though most patients with contagious diseases are in quarantined rooms, one can never be too safe. I figure what the hell and snap it on.

Mikasa is in room 5C, and I rush in. The nurse at her bedside turns to look at me and opens her mouth, probably to ask who I am, but I interrupt with “I’m her brother” before she can get a word in. “What happened? How is she?”

She looks hesitant to speak, which I know isn’t a good sign. “It was a car accident,” she says. The other car was coming fast in the wrong direction—it looks like she swerved, but not quickly enough. She was hit and probably couldn’t regain control as she spiraled.”

That’s a lot to take in, but later. I know I can’t avoid thinking about the accident, or whoever the bastard who was driving the other car was, but that’s not what I want to hear right now. “More importantly, how is she?”

There’s a little more hesitation this time, but she’s a nurse. This is probably not unlike other situations she’s been through. But I don’t imagine it ever gets any easier. “She’s in a coma. She hasn’t woken up yet.”

If there is a god, I want someone to start laughing and Mikasa to open her eyes and laugh that this entire setup was some sort of sick joke. I wouldn’t even care how disgusting it is to pull something like this on someone, I just want to hug her and hold her close and know that she’s alive and that I have my sister back.

But maybe there isn’t a god, or maybe he just can’t hear me, because Mikasa doesn’t wake up and when Ymir and Krista come in, there are tears, not laughter, in Krista’s eyes. This is real. This is happening, and it’s the most goddamn unfair thing that’s ever happened to anyone.

Krista immediately comes over and squeezes my shoulders. It doesn’t do anything for me, even though I wish feeling better was that easy. I still have barely been able to look at my sister.

I mutter an excuse that I’ll be back and leave the room, stuffing my mask in my pocket. I wander through the halls aimlessly, needing fresh air. I go through a few doors marked “authorized personnel only,” faintly surprised that there’s no sort of security on them. Well, this isn’t a major hospital. I don’t think it’s affiliated with a major religion, either. Finally, I find a door leading to some sort of outdoor deck. Perfect.

I step outside, careful even in my hectic state to prop the door open with a loose brick so I don’t get locked out. Then I cover my mouth with one arm and scream into it as loud as I can. Once I’ve exhausted my breath, I repeatedly pound my fist into the metal railing, managing to chip some of the pristine white paint. Surprisingly, no one comes out. I suppose they don’t expect anyone to be here.

For the first time in a long time, I feel completely alone.

I enjoy hanging out with my friends, but I don’t feel close to them the way I probably should. Ever since my mother died and my father skipped out, the only person I can rely on, the only person I can fully trust, is Mikasa. Even if she doesn’t know everything about me, she’s the one who knows the most.

All those times I brushed her off, let her take care of everything because I took her for granted come crashing back to my consciousness, and everything suddenly seems like too much. I suddenly understand why this is an “authorized personnel only” area. It would be too easy to misstep, let everything go.

But I don’t. Mikasa isn’t gone. She isn’t with me, but I know I have to believe that she can come back. If I don’t believe that, I know I’m not going to be able to handle anything. I fist my hands and turn back towards the door. I walk back into the hospital and quickly realize I have no idea how to get back to the ICU.

I’m so intent on trying to read the signs to figure out where I’m going that I don’t realize when I slam into someone, sending us both toppling to the floor. It isn’t until I’m leaning over the person, our faces pressed close together, that I smell something familiar. Pushing myself off the floor, I look into the person’s eyes to realize I recognize them. They’re deep blue eyes, perfectly lined with kohl, that even after having seen them just once, I’d know anywhere.

His mouth twists into a slow, knowing smirk. “As much as this position might be enjoyable under different circumstances–“ he starts, and clearly intends to go on, but I’m so flustered that I accidentally smack his mouth in my flurry to stand. I also trip over his legs and fall onto my hands and knees before finally pulling myself into an upright position. I can already tell that my cheeks are on fire as I avoid looking at him.

Levi stands up slowly, languidly, making sure I can’t miss the way his limbs move. I don’t, and I catch myself blushing more as I can’t take my eyes off of him. God, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I look up at his face just to avoid looking anywhere else, and the smirk hasn’t slid off of his face. “Fall for me, did you?” he says, and the line is so unexpectedly dorky and so mismatched with the expression on his face that utter confusion wins out over annoyance.

But the next instant, all traces of humor are gone; his eyes darken, and he forcibly shoves me out of the way. I turn back, fully prepared to jam a fist into his ribs, not just for him shoving me just now but also for the way he treated me the other night. Before I can, though, he reaches out a hand casually to grip my wrist. His stance suggests that I shouldn’t try anything with my other hand either. I grit my teeth, but I don’t move.

“I don’t want to fucking be here,” he says. “I seriously doubt that you want to fucking be here, unless you’re a goddamn moron, which, considering what happened last night, you just fucking might be.”

“Does your cool factor go up each time you say ‘fucking?’”

I know it’s the wrong thing to say before I say it, but he’s pissing me off so much that I say the first thing I can think of that I know will set him off. I’m already on edge trying to process Mikasa’s accident, and running into this man has amped up my bad mood. He’s obviously not in the best of moods either, because he smacks me on the side of the head. “Get lost, kid,” he tells me, and walks off.

As I find my way out of that particular wing of the hospital trying to find my way back to the ICU, I happen to notice it’s the mental health wing of the hospital.

Someone that screwed up probably should be in therapy, I think, and immediately regret it. Even if he is an asshole, that’s still a shitty thing to think. And it’s true that I don’t know what’s happened to him. But still, he doesn’t have to be a complete jerk all the time. I clench my fists and slip my mask back on, heading back into Mikasa’s room once I find the ICU.

Ymir and Krista aren’t here anymore, and I make a note to than them later. They went to all this trouble for me, and being an ungrateful jerk isn’t going to do me any favors. Besides, I’m not ungrateful. I am so thankful for everything they did, even if it’s not something pleasant.

I look at her this time more closely. There are tubes down her throat and in her arms. I’ve never seen her look so helpless, so weak and dependent. Not Mikasa—beautiful, strong Mikasa who never needed anyone, but always took care of me. Her skin is a sickly blue-yellow shade, and for the first time in a long time I feel tears in my eyes. I force them back and take Mikasa’s hand. It’s cold. Mikasa is never cold.

A few moments later, Reiner and Bertholdt come in. Annie is lagging behind them, the way she often is. Dully, I reflect that I don’t understand why she’s always with them when she doesn’t seem to like the very much, but I’m too numb to think any further than that.

Without a word, Reiner wraps his arms around in an awkward sort of hug, and I don’t shove him off. It lasts about ten seconds, until we’re both suitably uncomfortable, but strangely it makes me feel a little better. Bert just pats me on the head, and Annie doesn’t say anything, but the fact that she’s here at all says a lot. In spite of everything, I feel a little better, and squeeze Mikasa’s hand.

A few minutes later, Jean arrives. His eyes are red and frantic, and neither of us says anything to each other. If there’s one thing we have in common, it’s Mikasa. He immediately goes over to her other side and takes her hand. His shoulders start to shake, and I know he’s crying.

Everyone else seems to take this as their symbol to leave, and they do, murmuring quiet goodbyes.

I check my phone quickly; Armin is out of town today and has sent several frenzied messages, apologizing for not being here and asking if I’m all right. I shoot back a quick text just to let him know that I’m alive, and know he’ll understand. There are texts from everyone else in there too, as well as some from numbers I’ve never seen before. Great.

Not wanting to deal with anyone right now, I shove my phone back in my pocket and clutch Mikasa’s hand as tightly as I dare to. I’m afraid if I squeeze too much, I’ll break her. I’ve never had to be afraid of that before, and I hate feeling so helpless. I want to turn to Mikasa, like I always do. But I can’t. 

It’s this moment when I know that I can’t keep relying on people, and I have to learn to stand by myself. Mikasa wouldn’t have always been here for me anyway, and I’ve been leaning on her too much, and I’ve been weak. My resolve hardening, I touch Mikasa’s hand to my cheek briefly.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but Jean shows no plans to move and I don’t have any either. Since it’s the ICU, visiting hours are pretty much around-the-clock. I think that maybe I’ll go home late tomorrow, but I want to stay with Mikasa tonight. I lean up against the bed and close my eyes as I hold tightly to Mikasa’s hand. I remember sitting awake for hours, nurses coming in and out regularly to check up on her, and there are dreams.


End file.
